


grow a garden in my lungs

by jongdaesang (d10smessi)



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hanahaki Disease, Angst, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-25
Updated: 2017-09-25
Packaged: 2019-01-05 06:08:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12184431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/d10smessi/pseuds/jongdaesang
Summary: kyungsoo and jongin are together, creating gardens for other people.





	grow a garden in my lungs

**Author's Note:**

> hi. i'm bored and suddenly, this.

kyungsoo attends his best friend’s wedding in the middle of spring in a beautiful resort outside of seoul.

 

he watches as park chanyeol walks down the aisle with his signature dumb grin and a bouquet of flowers he can’t name. his knees are visibly shaking and his wide eyes are glassy. kyungsoo follows his every move, watches as his best friend cut an intimidating figure as he travels the length of the red carpet.

 

at the end, byun baekhyun waits for the tall man, tearing up. he watches the ceremony with a smile playing on his lips, hands clutched in front of him. the entire thing is a short affair—neither of the groom has enough patience or attention span to sit through an entire ceremony.

 

when they kiss, finally—the hall erupts in loud hoots and kyungsoo claps, still smiling. he catches chanyeol’s eyes and he gives the older man two thumbs up, mouthing, “congratulations.”

 

the taller male makes kissy faces at him and kyungsoo bursts out in loud laughter. baekhyun elbows chanyeol and sends a wink at him. he sticks his tongue at the newly weds as they both get their pictures taken. their suits are impeccable and they don’t look like the chanyeol-and-baekhyun that kyungsoo has known since five years ago.

 

kyungsoo watches as chanyeol kisses baekhyun deep. their lips lock and one of chanyeol’s large hands fits itself on the small of his husband’s back. he wants to avert his eyes at the festivities—chanyeol has started tickling baekhyun.

 

his lungs go tight, filling up slowly. he purses his lips and tries to breathe through his nose. the air burns when it goes down.

 

the spring air is appropriately cold but he feels feverish. kyungsoo smiles at anyone, at no one in particular. jongdae, another person from their friend group, claps him on the shoulder with a beam on his handsome face. the contact sends shivers down his spine for reason he does not know. he shrinks from the touch and jongdae eyes him with a confused stare. he plasters on a smile, excuses himself from the crowd. he doesn’t want to see jongdae look at him like he needs some help.

 

kyungsoo attends his best friend’s wedding with a broken heart and a lungful of flowers.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

the reception is absolutely beautiful. kyungsoo walks inside the large space with a gaping mouth and bright eyes. everyone is exchanging large smiles and congratulations. chanyeol is a big shot music producer and he eyes a group of idols on one of the tables, clustered with their managers and preparing for their song dedication.

 

he sits with his group of friends—all normal people. jongdae pulls his chair closer to his side and his fingers are quick to comb through the short hairs near kyungsoo’s nape. there’s a sad smile on the man’s face, all-knowing.

 

when the dishes are served and the champagne has been popped and poured, jongdae sidles up to him, asking, “are you okay, kyungsoo?”

 

kyungsoo gives the male a wan smile, blinking slowly. “as okay as i can be.”

 

jongdae’s hand flutter on kyungsoo’s stomach and he feels soothing circles being rubbed over the material of his white shirt.

 

“does it hurt?” jongdae looks worried. he continues massaging kyungsoo’s stomach, rising up to where his lungs are. jongdae would know—he’s a doctor.

 

“not really,” kyungsoo replies. he leans, adding, “mostly it’s just uncomfortable.”

 

he turns his eyes to their meal and jongdae withdraws his hand. 

 

both of them know that it doesn’t hurt because kyungsoo’s been used to this—seven years and, as it seems, counting.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

all wedding receptions, no matter how cheap or how costly, end up with three-fourths of the guests buzzed. the place smells like alcohol—wine and bubbly and cocktails. the best spirits have long disappeared and everyone is being served middle shelf. no one would care anymore about the way alcohol would go down when they’re sufficiently tipsy and just craving for more of the good stuff.

 

kyungsoo has not drunk a single drop except for the glasses of water he has been been shooting back like tequila shots.

 

he does not want to cause a scene.

 

he’s standing at the side, just gazing at the things happening in the dance floor. there's someone who’s jacket and ties has gone missing—his shoe, too, from what kyungsoo has seen. it’s amusing to watch, kyungsoo chuckles into his soda water.

 

“hey,” a deep voice rumbles on his right side.

 

kyungsoo snaps his head and his eyes go up.

 

“hi, chanyeol,” he greets his best friend.

 

chanyeol has a healthy flush on his cheeks and his eyes are lively. kyungsoo’s lungs burn with how happy the older male looks right now. his best friend rubs a hand on the back of his neck and with a sheepish smile, asks, “can i have this dance?”

 

kyungsoo forces a smile and he hopes chanyeol is drunk enough that he doesn’t notice. he answers, trying to sound as teasing as possible, “don’t you have a husband now?”

 

chanyeol guffaws at that—like kyungsoo is the funniest person he has ever met in his life. his eyes, subconsciously, seek the room. kyungsoo watches as chanyeol’s lips pull into a calm smile, truly contented, when he spots baekhyun. the other groom is hammered, red in the face and bare foot.

 

“well,” chanyeol drawls. “you don’t have to tell him.”

 

the mischief lights up chanyeol’s face in a way that is familiar—and painful. kyungsoo’s smile falters before he straightens his mask again. he says, “lead the way, park.”

 

chanyeol catches his hand and kyungsoo wonders how much it fits against his. chanyeol has large hands and his own are small, fingers a little too fat. baekhyun has slender fingers, beautiful and nice to look at—they must slot into the gaps of chanyeol’s like the both of them are pre-made for each other.

 

the music is slow and kyungsoo, if he imagines hard enough, can pretend it’s romantic. it’s not, really—chanyeol has chosen a neutral song.

 

kyungsoo winds his hands around chanyeol’s waist and the taller man does the same to him. the two of them are pressed together as the older sways them both to the music. they're not good dancers but kyungsoo knows that chanyeol has been preparing for this night for months, even practicing dancing. it’s an exercise in futility but, at least, they can follow the rhythm.

 

“thanks for coming, kyungie.”

 

the nickname slips past chanyeol’s lips and lodges itself deep into the cracks of kyungsoo’s heart. his breathing trembles, lungs failing.

 

“i wouldn’t miss it for the world, yeollie,” he replies. their childhood voices itself with the fondness in the names that they barely use anymore. kyungsoo does not like being called kyungie anymore, outgrowing the endearment all together.

 

baekhyun has a new pet name for chanyeol that kyungsoo does not want to impose himself into.

 

“you’re the best, you know that right?” chanyeol's voice is soft above him and kyungsoo feels the familiar weight of the man’s chin on top of his head.

 

“i know that,” he replies, trying to be cheeky.

 

chanyeol’s laughter rumbles and large hands smooth the material of kyungsoo’s suit. the two of them continue to sway to the music.

 

“no, really,” chanyeol says. “you’re, like, the best, kyungie. you introduced me to baek—” the reminder shots a pain straight through him and he tries to hold back a whimper and the beginnings of the cursed coughing. chanyeol’s words blur together as he tries to calm himself down. once he has, he notices that chanyeol has stopped himself from moving the two of them.

 

“are you okay, kyungie?”

 

“i am,” kyungsoo smiles. “just… odd.”

 

“why?” chanyeol steps backward, looking down at him and inspecting him.

 

“nothing.”

 

“you can tell me anything,” the man coos. “tell _hyung_ what’s wrong.”

 

kyungsoo tries to hold back another round of coughing. chanyeol never brings up their age unless he’s really worried.

 

"i'm just—” he sighs. maybe it’s good to tell the older male a white lie. or a half-truth. “i’m a little jealous. i’m happy for you, of course, but—you know. i can’t help but want what you have.”

 

chanyeol’s eyes widen at the admission before he gathers kyungsoo in his arms. he whispers, “you’ll find someone too, kyungie. you’re smart and beautiful and kind and all kinds of perfect. don’t worry too much or _hyung_ will worry too.”

 

he doesn’t ask why he’s not perfect for chanyeol. instead, he stays still and savors the moment of being inside the arms of a married man—the one whom he has loved even before byun baekhyun.

 

this time, kyungsoo’s eyes burn alongside his lungs.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

he steals a moment for himself, slipping inside the bathroom and out of everyone’s notice. 

 

the pressure inside kyungsoo’s chest has gone from bad to worse. the flowers are threatening to break free and he feels like he’s about to die. distantly, he knows that no one dies of this disease—no matter how long one has been coughing petals, they stay alive and healthy like nothing is amiss.

 

kyungsoo doesn’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

 

seven years of being sick—no one dies of a broken heart but kyungsoo, he knows, might as well have.

 

he leans his back against the tiled wall as the chandelier above spills large beams of light. this is the first time he’s been in a bathroom with a chandelier. out of everyone in his friend group, kyungsoo knows he makes the least being a music teacher in high school. 

 

he coughs once and he cups his hands to catch the flower petals. they look like the ones that chanyeol has carried to the altar awhile ago. the garden inside him comes to life as he continues to cough and wheeze. the soft flowers drag upwards, rising with the taste of something that’s sickly sweet. there’s an aftertaste of bitterness lingering on his tongue.

 

the reds and the pinks and the yellows bloom on top of his palms, falling to the floor. spring burns his insides as he continues to hack what looks to be rose petals and a little bit of daisies. or maybe sunflowers.

 

in the seven years that this has been happening, kyungsoo has never bothered to know what the flowers are. sometimes, they change. nothing is really familiar even if he has been used to this for a long time.

 

tears start to pool in his eyes and some of it leaks to trace a path down his cheeks. the warm liquid scars his skin with the tracks it leaves. he feels heavy and lethargic, bone deep weariness from the years of loving someone with his whole self.

 

“do you need some help?”

 

kyungsoo straightens at the unknown voice and his eyes immediately zeroes in on a tall man standing in front of one of the stalls. he flushes red and he wipes his eyes furiously. the flowers around him are enough of a proof as shame courses through his veins. and then, fear.

 

“n-no,” he stutters out. “i’m sorry.” he breathes deeply but the inhale is aborted by another round of coughing. he can’t help it and a sob is ripped out of him as petals billow in the air like broken bouquets after explosions.

 

the man steps forward and the light throws shadows over his tanned skin. the top three buttons of his white dress shirt is opened, tie missing. he's an imposing man, large and built. kyungsoo sinks deeper into himself, stepping back and hugging himself.

 

"i'm jongin. kim jongin,” the man offers with a tentative step. his hand reaches out to kyungsoo as if he’s placating an animal.

 

out of politeness, kyungsoo blurts out, “i’m do kyungsoo.”

 

jongin gives him a small smile, amused. kyungsoo tries to return it but he gives another cough. the petals that come out are mostly pale pink in color before it gradually shifts to a darker shade.

 

the taller man watches it in fascination, comments idly, “your flowers look beautiful.”

 

kyungsoo is about to ask the man a question but it’s suddenly stuck inside his throat when jongin also releases a deep cough.

 

there, on the floor between them are flowers that kyungsoo has never seen before. 

 

he looks up at jongin’s wide eyes. there’s a petal sticking on one corner of his lips. kyungsoo raises his hand, brushing it away.

 

silence falls the way the flowers around them have done.

 

jongin gives him a crooked smile, asks, “do you want to leave this place with me?”

 

his right hand is held out to kyungsoo’s direction. he eyes the taller man’s face, hopelessly earnest with a little bit of embarrassment. kyungsoo gives the man a heart-shaped smile—tired but the first genuine one of the evening.

 

he says, “yes,” as he takes jongin’s hand.

 

they leave together, hands clasped like little kids. jongin intertwines their fingers and behind them, the bathroom looks like a small garden after a passing storm.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

kyungsoo stares at the vehicle in front of him, eyes going from jongin’s smiling face to the death trap in front of him.

 

“that’s a motorcycle,” he deadpans.

 

“yes,” jongin answers. he swings his legs and straddles the large bike. 

 

“you look weird,” kyungsoo says. jongin looks out of place in his dark suit while riding a motorcycle.

 

“your face is weird,” jongin retorts like the child kyungsoo has decided he is.

 

he bites his lower lip as he feels his knees physically weaken beneath him. jongin seems to catch the apprehension on his face and his tone. the taller male gives him a large smile and it looks bright and reassuring.

 

kyungsoo wonders how a man like jongin can cough flowers like he does.

 

“it’s going to be okay.” jongin's soft voice echoes in the darkness. it’s gentle and it does a good job coaxing kyungsoo out of his anxiety. he nods his head once and jongin beams at him, putting a helmet over his head.

 

“hop on, do kyungsoo.”

 

kyungsoo does as he’s told and he wraps his arms on jongin’s waist tightly. he presses his chest on the man’s back, cheek resting on the broad expanse of it. he takes a deep breath and he’s sure jongin can feel his thundering heart, erratic.

 

“don’t be scared,” jongin says. a large hand closes on the linked hands on top of jongin’s toned abdomen. it’s warm. 

 

kyungsoo nods once more before jongin asks again, “ready?”

 

“yeah,” he replies shortly, closing his eyes.

 

the motorcycle gives a purr and the machine streaks on the road like a predator. the rubber tires glide across the asphalt smoothly as jongin maneuvers them around.

 

kyungsoo’s lungs burn but this time, there are no flowers.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

they end up in a 24-hour convenience store because, of course, they do. 

 

they’re almost forty-five minutes away from the wedding hall and kyungsoo huddles deep inside his suit jacket to ward off the night chill. it’s almost midnight, from what he can see from the wall clock displayed inside the store. the plastic chair he’s sitting on is uncomfortable and he tries not to think about the way the table in front of him looks sticky.

 

jongin comes back with a large bag of potato chips, a bag of chocolate-covered peanuts, and two bottles of diet soda.

 

“here,” he says, opening the bottle of coke himself before handing it to kyungsoo.

 

“thanks, jongin,” he mumbles, taking a sip of the cold drink.

 

the other man rips open the packet of chips, shoving three in his mouth. he chews with his mouth closed but the crunch is loud amidst the sound of the latest kpop track playing overhead. the young man working the cash register chuckles and kyungsoo sneaks a glance, only to find him engrossed in a book.

 

kyungsoo takes a chip, relishing the salt on his tongue.

 

the two of them continue to eat without speaking but it’s not as uncomfortable as kyungsoo expects it to be. jongin is practically a stranger but the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles seems disarming. if he’s a serial killer, then kyungsoo decides he’s the type who will never get caught.

 

“thank you,” jongin interrupts his train of thought.

 

kyungsoo blushes and he slaps his hands over his mouth. he murmurs, “did i say that out loud?”

 

“the part about me being a serial killer?” jongin’s right eyebrow rises and his tone, too, lilts. “yes, you did. i’m flattered really. i’m glad you think i won’t get caught.”

 

“sorry,” kyungsoo replies. the silence shifts into something awkward. he takes a drink of his diet coke, the bubbles exploding inside his mouth.

 

jongin eyes him quizzically before shrugging. kyungsoo is about to ask the other man what is wrong but he’s beaten to it when jongin, with a tilted head, inquires, “who are you coughing flowers for?”

 

“what?” kyungsoo returns. “i’m not gonna answer that.”

 

“why not?” jongin prods on.

 

“i don’t even know you!” kyungsoo throws his hands in the air. if anything, jongin looks even more amused.

 

“i’m kim jongin. i told you this already.”

 

“that’s just your name!”

 

the man sighs with faux resignation. his eyes remain playful. “i’m a dancer. i was born on january 14, 1994. i’m a dog person. how about you, kyungsoo?”

 

kyungsoo fells thrown off but he answers diligently, “i’m a music teacher and uh—i was born two days before you, actually, in 1993. and well, same. i’m a dog person too.”

 

jongin smiles at that, leaning in. he looks charming when he asks again, “so… who are you coughing flowers for?”

 

he’s staring at kyungsoo intensely that he can’t help but say, “the groom.”

 

jongin’s eyes widen. “byun baekhyun?”

 

kyungsoo shakes his head, feeling the telltale signs of heartbreak once more. “no, chanyeol—the tall one.”

 

“oh,” jongin says. a second before he adds, “i was—uhm—coughing for the other groom. baekhyun. not your chanyeol.”

 

kyungsoo snorts, “he’s not mine.”

 

jongin gives him a nod of acknowledgement as if saying ‘touché’ before he tips the bottle of soda to him, says, “amen to that.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

seoul disappears to the wee hours of after midnight when the bike moves with purpose across the cement. when they stop at their destination, jongin removes kyungsoo’s helmet himself. his mid-rise apartment building is barely lighted, a testament of the type of people who lives in the rooms—responsible enough to go to sleep before 12 in the morning.

 

“good night, jongin,” he says. he stumbles out of the bike, tripping over his unsteady feet. jongin steadies his with a hand on his waist.

 

“good night, kyungsoo,” jongin replies. his palm is still resting on the curve of kyungsoo’s torso.

 

there’s a moment of silence between the two of them before jongin grins, asks, “can i have your phone number?”

 

kyungsoo’s eyes widen but there must have been some leftover alcohol in his system that he gives the younger man a small smile, answers, “okay.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> i literally have no excuse.


End file.
